Every year between the end of the college football season and the national championship game we’re forced to endure a series of overly-sponsored match-ups by slightly-better-than-average football squads. They are given a shot at eternal glory by conquering opponents in bowl games whose names leave even the most experienced commentators tongue tied. So, whether we’re fans of the sport, fans of a team in the game, or someone who happens to be watching television over this holiday season, bowl games like the “Franklin American Mortgage Music City Bowl” often leave us with an overwhelming sense of confusion as to why teams are playing and who is watching. Here are five bowl games whose names stand out as horribly mis-matched with the teams competing in them:

The Boxing Day Season is my favorite time of year. Nothing beats sitting inside by a warm fire with a cup of Hot Cocoa while

Look how joyous! Look how merry!

Mother Nature smites those outside with a terrible combination of cold, snow, and rain. People’s summertime tans fade, leaving behind a sexy, ghost-like complexion that medieval women used to bleed themselves to attain. Boxing Day pumps billions of dollars into the economy, as well. People legitimately assault each other over high-demand items, and Jos. A. Bank’s yearly “Buy One, Get 30 Free” sale starts up again. American Capitalism is in full swing.

Sherman Ave sent me, The Honorable Dr. Turlington, around the greater New York area[1] to ask residents how they’re celebrating Boxing Day. Here are some of the choicest responses: Continue reading →

In between our in-depth conversations about “if New Jersey is the armpit of America, where is the clitoris?” and giggle fits about Mary Kay Letourneau, I cannot help but wonder whether my roommate harbors a secret repulsion towards the disgusting standards by which I live my life.

It’s not what you think. I’m not the roommate that comes home drunk and turns on the lights at four AM or uses up all the ink to print out pictures of my imaginary someday-cat during midterms week right before her big paper is due. I might be the roommate that forgets to fill up the water pitcher.

I am the smelly roommate.

Look, I want you all to know that I’m not that bad, it’s just that every Foul Bachelor Frog joke ever is based on my daily decisions. For example: Instead of showering I tell myself I’m going to the gym and there’s simply no point. Instead of rolling out of bed and trying to make myself look more like a member of this species, my weak-willed sleep haze hits snooze until the choice becomes should I wear a douchebag hat today or walk in late again? Instead of doing laundry literally right now I’m writing this article. You are reading the confessions of someone who has attended formal chapter in black sweatpants and a “white” t-shirt and who has shamelessly told her boyfriend while cuddling to please don’t smell my hair.[1]

Why haven’t I chugged bleach yet?[2] Because PWild has ruined my hygiene forever and ever. Every semi-legitimate validation of my sanitary practices refers to the fact that once upon a time three years ago I was way grosser and came out of that experience with friends, probably.[3] Haven’t showered since Saturday? Well, I did that for a whole week on PWild! Wearing the same holey socks from yesterday’s run? Again, the eleven other insecure stankiepanties didn’t have a problem with it. Dishes piled on the side of my desk need a powerwasher? After ingesting meals that consisted of whatever we made just then plus hours-old breakfast oatmeal and some of last night’s rice clotted to the sides of a mess kit, I look like fackin Martha Stewart. But I don’t actually look like Martha Stewart, I look like Who The Hell Let The Homeless Chick In The Sorority House. And I’m not sure which is worse.

Here’s the thing: if you tell people you’re aware of your shortcomings, they are often more forgiving. The kid in high school who ate his earwax probably wasn’t aware that it was socially unacceptable. You know how when you touch someone’s butt by accident and you’re not tight enough to have it not matter, but you don’t want the awkwardness of, “Did she just…?” to hang in the air, so you politely say, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just touched your butt.” It’s like that. If I tell you I am both aware and ashamed that I’m wearing Eau de I Forgot Deodorant, it’s all better, right?

Honestly, I know I shouldn’t accept this. I shouldn’t sacrifice that morning shower for sleep two days in a row and then have to maintain a two-to-ten-foot Danger Zone and apologize to anyone who steps within it. I shouldn’t get back from running a half marathon and NOT SHOWER IMMEDIATELY. I shouldn’t casually inform people who tell me they like my creative outfit that I’m not trying to look fashionable, I just have no clean jeans. I should pluck my eyebrows more often and not do my makeup in the dark and remember to shave before I look like if Frieda Kahlo was a radical feminist in the 60’s.

But you know what? Today’s downpour counts for a shower. And I’m going to the gym now, so there’s simply no point.

NOTICE: Just as the Evanston City Council assumes that all Twitter accounts are real, here at Sherman Ave we assume that all of our readers are responsible drinkers who are of legal age.

So in true Sherman Ave fashion, I’m writing this article as I’m five standard drinks in on St. Patrick’s day, which I think everyone can agree is the most heinous of holidays. Or rather, Alco-holidays. Let’s be real, I’m a drunk mess right now. I’m listening to Adele on full volume while I chug hard cider.

Did I mention I’m a ¼ Irish? No? Well, that and the 3/8 Mexican should be swag enough for me to get drunk any day of the week, you judgmental fucks.

Anyway, You wanna make some tasty c*cktails, eh? (are we Canadian now? Idk, bro)

So LET’S GET STARTED:

APPLE FUCKING PIE A LA MODE SHOOTER
This shit is so good. In the span of 24 hours I’ve made about 4 or 5, and consumed two myself. Regrets? NONE. This tasty little bitch will go down smoother than that Senior frat boy last Saturday.

½ shot apple pie liqueur (EV1 carries a brand called Anthony’s Own. It’s $16.99 a bottle, 25% alc. By volume. QUALITY PURCHASE FOLKS)
½ shot baily’s irish cream. (DOES IT MATTER HOW MUCH THIS COSTS? THIS IS GLORY IN A BOTTLE. I DRINK THIS LIKE WATER DAILY.)
Dash of cinnamon. (BECAUSE WE GET FANCY)

Try to throw it back because even though the liqueur is sweet, you don’t want the alcohol to curdle the cream.

Ruin yet another childhood memory with alcohol!

CIDER SLING
Typically a sling is citrus based, but the tartness of granny smith apple cider will totally suffice, especially if you use the gin I recommend because it doesn’t have a juniper berry base, which makes most gins spicier/more bitter.

½ shot New Amsterdam gin, or other gin if you like sticking it to the man (ME)
1 shot apple/apple pie liqueur
6 oz (half bottle) hard cider (I like Kelly’s a lot, but Woodchuck is sold by EV1, so it’s what I’m using)
1 or 2 oz ginger ale

This shit is a good drink if you want to get drunk but don’t want to be forced into getting a new drink every second. It’s tasty, it’s apple-y and that’s all that counts for me right now. I AM DRINKING ONE OF THESE RIGHT NOW, THAT SHOULD TELL YOU HOW GOOD IT IS.

1 shot of HONEY whiskey (it has to be honey, and I prefer Jack Daniels)
Splash of gold rum
2 maraschino cherries
A bigger splash of the juice from the cherry jar
5 to 6 oz. coke

Be careful with these, please. The last time I imbibed these bad boys my roommate was not happy with their contents being deposited on my bed while I slept on the floor. Then I stole a friend’s camera and had an 11 image photo shoot by myself with a fire extinguisher. This shit is dangerous.

Goes great with skiing, family vacations, and the existential coldness of winter quarter.

CHOCOLATE SURPRISE
The surprise is how drunk you get, you fuck. HAPPY HOLIDAYS? Anyway, this is gonna be a great thing to sip on and get progressively more slutty. I hold no responsibility for your hookups.

Pour this over ice. Nothing is better than this, I swear. I’m sorry I can type so well when I’m drunk guys, but really. I made this based on an ice cream flavor at the Bent Spoon in Princeton, NJ, and that shit was really tasty so yeah… This happened.

ANYWAY, I hope you guys enjoy these drinks. Please for the love of all that is holy, do NOT do all of these drinks at once, because you’ll will end up flatter than a opossum crossing I-95. #southernjoke. OH WELL. HAPPY SPRING BREAK!

The legendary Tupac Shakur once famously stated, “I didn’t choose the thug dorm life, the thug dorm life chose me.” For several reasons, surviving dorm life can certainly be one of the most difficult challenges you’ll face your freshman year. While some things (ex: People vomiting outside of your room and covering it up with printer paper) are out of your control, the proper knowledge and expectation of what lies ahead can help equip you for a successful year.